


By The Time I'm Dreaming

by kaijuvenom after dark (kaijuvenom)



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Alcohol, Begging, M/M, Porn with Feelings, Strap-Ons, Trans Damar, Trans Male Character, Weyoun talks too much, gratuitous mentions of the color of weyoun's eyes for the poetry of it all, let Damar get pegged 2021
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-03
Updated: 2021-03-03
Packaged: 2021-03-16 01:34:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29817444
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaijuvenom/pseuds/kaijuvenom%20after%20dark
Summary: Weyoun comes to visit Damar late at night, for reasons unknown.As it turns out, he wants something from Damar. As he often does. The only thing that makes this time different is the fact that Damar might actually be able to provide him with it.
Relationships: Damar/Weyoun (Star Trek)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 18





	By The Time I'm Dreaming

**Author's Note:**

  * For [darthpumpkinspice](https://archiveofourown.org/users/darthpumpkinspice/gifts).



> g'day gamers and metalheads, please do not comment on/try to discuss this fic with me if you're under 18! thank u <3

“What.”

It was a rude greeting, Damar knew, but he’d been disturbed halfway through his second bottle of kanar in the late hours of the night by one of his least favorite people—so honestly it was a miracle the greeting wasn’t worse. 

Seeming to understand that this interaction had lost all semblance of propriety as soon as he had made the decision to visit Damar at this time of night, Weyoun shoved past him without a word and settled himself on the couch, snatching the kanar Damar had left on the table and drinking it straight from the bottle. 

It was completely unexpected, and perhaps the shock from seeing Weyoun behave this way was what prevented him from throwing the terrible creature out of his quarters before he could locate the rest of Damar’s kanar collection. Damar wasn’t sure what to do, and he was too tired and a bit too drunk to come up with a plan to get Weyoun out, so he settled back on the couch next to him. 

There was a long silence, Damar watching as Weyoun gradually drained the bottle of kanar. He counted, and it was nearly twenty minutes before Weyoun had emptied the bottle and set it back on the end table. He was fascinated by this behavior, and felt a bit like a field scientist researching a wild animal—no sudden moves, or it might scamper off before you can figure out why the hell it’s doing what it’s doing. 

Weyoun took a long breath and shut his eyes, leaning his head against the back of the couch cushion. Despite himself, Damar found his gaze drifting downward, settling on Weyoun’s neck. It was so exposed, tilted at just the right angle that made it—that made _Weyoun—_ look almost enticing. 

Not that Damar had never been enticed by Weyoun before. But that attraction was shallow, it didn’t stand up against Weyoun’s cruelty, the sick pleasure he seemed to derive from making Damar’s life harder. 

It was another long minute before Weyoun lifted his head from the cushion and opened his eyes, violet gaze staring into Damar’s face with a ferocity that was almost frightening. His expression was unreadable, as if he was attempting to make it as neutral as possible, but a mix of emotions still struggled to make their way onto his face. 

“Has anyone ever gotten on their knees for you, Damar?” He asked, with so little cadence that it took Damar a second to realize he’d actually said what he’d said. It didn’t even occur to him to question why _that_ was the first thing Weyoun had said since coming into his quarters.

“I- what?”

“I said; has anyone ever gotten on their knees for you?”

Damar swallowed, images flashing through his mind that he’d prefer to keep in the depths of his subconscious. “In-“ he cleared his throat, briefly snapping his eyes away from Weyoun’s, the force of his stare too much for him to contend with at the moment, “in what context?”

“To serve you,” Weyoun said, and Damar couldn’t help it, he looked back into Weyoun’s eyes. His expression burned, the look on his face had been trained into something Damar could only describe as predatory. Uncontrolled, dangerous. The wild animal comparison was feeling more and more appropriate. 

“I... I guess so. Yes.” 

He realized, far too late to question it, that Weyoun had moved closer to him, legs tucked underneath him as he shifted, sitting sideways on the couch to look straight at Damar. 

“What about the reverse?”

His mouth was dry. He swallowed, but it didn’t help. His gaze flicked across Weyoun’s face before landing back on his eyes, unable to resist their magnetism. “What?”

“The reverse. Have you ever gotten on your knees for someone?”

“Why are you asking me this?”

“Because,” Weyoun said, and in one swift movement, he had swung a leg over Damar’s lap and braced both hands on his shoulders. The suddenness of the change of positions should’ve been enough to get Damar to pull away, if the closeness of their bodies somehow wasn’t, but instead he found himself embracing it. He placed a hand on Weyoun’s waist for no reason except that he wanted to, pulling him in.

“Because,” Weyoun said again, leaning in to whisper into Damar’s ear, making him shiver. “I’ve spent my existence on my knees. _Begging_ for everything I’ve ever been given. And I’ve been so good. For so long.” 

As if that explained everything, as if that explained why Weyoun had barged into Damar’s quarters, drunk his kanar, and propositioned him like this. At least, Damar assumed he was being propositioned. There weren’t many ways to interpret someone straddling you while whispering about vaguely erotic things. But with Weyoun, it was always a good idea to think up several possible motives, just in case. 

“What do you want from me?” 

Weyoun laughed, a light, breathy noise, and Damar felt lips against his neck for a moment before Weyoun pulled back. 

His eyes still burned Damar. Glowing with an intensity that was equal parts terrifying and exhilarating. 

“I want you… to make me feel worshipped. Treat me like I mean something to you.” 

There was something unspoken tacked onto the end of his words, _You don’t have to mean it, just make me believe it._ Damar opened his mouth and then closed it again. 

“What about the Founders?” He asked eventually.

Weyoun didn’t answer right away, dipping his head back down. Damar felt him exhale sharply against his shoulder, the way his muscles tensed beneath where Damar held his waist. 

“They’re the last thing I’m thinking about at the moment, Damar.” 

He sounded sincere enough, and as he pulled back from Damar’s neck to look at him, there was no outward hint of a lie on his expression, but Damar couldn’t help but have trouble believing that Weyoun truly wasn’t thinking about the Founders. It went against Weyoun’s genetics, he doubted it was even possible. 

“What do I get out of this?” Damar asked, scanning Weyoun’s face, searching for answers there and coming up empty.

Instead of giving Damar a civil response, Weyoun leaned forward and kissed him. It was slow, practiced, and undoubtedly a talent developed over hundreds of years to get what he wanted, and Damar melted into the feeling, opening his mouth to allow Weyoun’s tongue entrance with a quiet sigh of contentment. 

It wasn’t a messy kiss, fast and passionate and fiery. It was slow and, if at all possible for any type of kiss involving tongue, almost chaste. It left Damar wanting more, so much more, immediately. 

He knew he shouldn’t be doing this, that it was a mistake, he’d regret it, but Weyoun was right here, and he was beautiful, and Damar would be lying if he said he’d never thought about this. Perhaps not in this exact way, all of his fantasies had involved Weyoun as the submissive one, wishful thinking on Damar’s part, the reality of the situation was the opposite. Not that he minded. 

“I won’t beg for you,” Damar said, and even as the words fell out of his mouth he knew they were a lie, although he hadn’t intended them to be. 

Weyoun’s eyes flashed, smoldering with a fire that shone too brightly for Damar to look into without combusting.

“Is that a challenge?” 

Damar licked his lips, noticing as Weyoun watched the movements of his tongue as it flicked out of his mouth. 

“Yes,” he said, after only a moment of consideration. 

Weyoun stood up at that, nodding once, and Damar watched him move across the room, discarding clothes as he went, before he sat on the edge of Damar’s bed, pulling off his shirt, his last article of clothing, and throwing it nonchalantly on the floor.

They stared at each other in silence for a moment before Weyoun quirked an eyebrow up, a silent question, or maybe an order, one that Damar obeyed instantly, standing and joining Weyoun at the bed. Weyoun pulled him down, one hand fisting into his shirt and the other gripping the back of his neck. This kiss was different from the last one, Weyoun’s teeth broke the skin on Damar’s lip and the sound he made was embarrassing enough to make him pause for a moment and wonder what the hell he was doing, but then Weyoun was kissing him again and his tongue was swirling around Damar’s with an amount of precision and grace that Damar didn’t even think was possible. 

Weyoun broke the kiss, pushing their foreheads together, his breathing accelerated slightly, and Damar tilted his head to connect their lips again, but Weyoun pushed back, gripping Damar’s hair and pulling him away. For a moment, Damar wasn’t sure what to do, his brain blanking on what the entire purpose of this was, until he felt another sharp tug on his hair, insistent, firm, unrelenting, and he let himself fall to his knees. Weyoun’s thighs spread open, and Damar was greeted by the sight of deeply flushed purple flesh, visibly wet. He watched, practically entranced, as Weyoun brought his own hand to it and circled his finger around before briefly pressing it into his hole. 

He pulled his finger out and Damar, struck by an unknown urge, snatched Weyoun’s wrist and brought it to his mouth, running his tongue across Weyoun’s finger and then sucking on it before letting it go again. Weyoun was staring at him like he was the most interesting thing in the galaxy, mouth slightly open in surprise, before he snapped it shut and blinked several times. 

“Use your mouth,” Weyoun breathed, the command almost too quiet for Damar to make out, like he’d lost his voice, probably around the time Damar had sucked on his finger.

What, exactly, Damar was doing with his life, he wasn’t sure, but he wasn’t going to bother analyzing his actions when he had far more important things to attend to at the moment. He gripped Weyoun’s thighs and ran his tongue across the slit. Weyoun made a soft noise, the tug on Damar’s hair loosening to become gentle, almost reverent, as Damar began exploring Weyoun’s anatomy, determining what exactly would make him the most satisfied. 

He seemed to enjoy the feeling of Damar’s tongue licking and rubbing across and above his hole, rather than inside, and the noises he made gradually increased in volume as Damar began drawing circles around his clit with each side of his forked tongue. 

“You’re very good at this, Damar,” Weyoun murmured, and Damar spared a glance up to see Weyoun staring at him, face flushed and pupils blown, watching him with something that could only be described as fascination. 

Curling his tongue back into his mouth for a moment, Damar spoke with his mouth still pressed against Weyoun. “I’ve had practice.” 

“Have you,” Weyoun responded, and Damar allowed himself to think for a second that maybe he was jealous, imagining the people Damar had done this for before him. Of course Weyoun wasn’t, he didn’t care, but the concept was nice to think about. 

Damar simply hummed in affirmation and continued his earlier activities, licking and sucking at Weyoun’s wet flesh, relishing in the noises of pleasure he made. 

“I want to fuck you,” Weyoun said, his voice slightly breathless as he tugged Damar’s hair sharply to get his attention. Damar glanced up at him, and then back down, frowning, as if he expected a penis to have suddenly appeared between Weyoun’s thighs when he hadn’t been looking. It wasn’t his fault his brain wasn’t functioning properly, hearing Weyoun say the words, _I want to fuck you,_ had momentarily blocked all other thoughts from entering his head. It took him several moments to comprehend what Weyoun meant, and by that time, Weyoun was already standing up and walking to Damar’s replicator, pushing buttons and muttering to it. 

After several seconds, as the replicator processed Weyoun’s request, Weyoun turned to look at him, tilting his head. “Do you not want to?”

“No- no, I do,” Damar said hastily. It had been a long time, a _long_ time since he’d been fucked. His ex-wife used to—well, do what Weyoun was about to do, but that was years ago. Probably a decade, at least. 

“Then get undressed. We don’t have all night, you know.”

Damar scowled, lifting himself up to remove his clothes, throwing them on the floor. _“Now_ you’re in a hurry all of a sudden? You know these are my quarters, and I can throw you out whenever I want?”

“But you won’t,” Weyoun said, almost in a singsong tone, still facing away from him as he tightened clasps around his waist and picked up what Damar assumed was a bottle of lube from the replicator. 

He turned around, and for a moment, all of the blood in Damar’s body seemed to pool in his groin, because seeing Weyoun with a strap-on was possibly one of the hottest things he’d ever seen, and he was so, _so_ wet that it was almost becoming unbearable. 

Then, as it always did with Weyoun, the realization of what he was seeing sunk in fully. The strap-on itself was a heinous color, something Damar could closely compare to the green shade of the murk at the bottom of a swamp, and as Weyoun moved closer, Damar realized that it wasn’t just swampy green, it was patterned, vertical stripes of dark green, intermingled with a slightly lighter shade, a bit more orange in tone, and possibly even more hideous. 

It was a monstrosity, and Damar nearly opened his mouth to say so, but then Weyoun was throwing him the bottle of lube and his options were either ‘think of a clever insult regarding Weyoun’s sense of aesthetics’ or ‘avoid getting concussed with a bottle of lube’. He chose the latter, catching it just before it smacked his forehead, and set it on the bed next to him. 

Weyoun’s eyes traveled down Damar’s form, settling his gaze between his legs and pausing, like he was considering something. At first Damar thought he might make some comment about Damar’s lack of a phallus, ask him why he hadn’t gotten surgery, he’d gotten top surgery, after all, so why hadn’t he done anything else? And Damar prepared himself for the barrage of questions that would immediately squeeze any amount of arousal he was still feeling right out of his system, but instead Weyoun said none of that. He just sat down on the bed, idly twisting his hand around the tip of the world’s ugliest dildo as he spoke. 

“I want to watch you prep yourself.” 

Damar found himself oddly entranced by the movements of Weyoun’s fingers, and he found himself nodding before he’d even processed the statement. 

“Lie back,” Weyoun said, lightly pushing against his chest until Damar allowed himself to fall backwards onto the mattress. “And spread your legs. Wider. _Wider._ I said I wanted to see you.”

Damar obeyed, and coated his fingers with lube, moving them towards his entrance, inserting the first finger and squeezing his eyes shut. Not that having his eyes closed helped, the burn of Weyoun’s eyes was etched into his mind, and the way he gripped Damar’s ankles tightly to keep his legs spread wasn’t doing much to make him forget this was _Weyoun,_ he was doing this with Weyoun, and this was a terrible decision and he didn’t even remember how they ended up here. 

He tried not to focus on that, and instead focused on the feeling as he stretched himself, adding a second finger and biting his tongue to hold back a groan. But then Weyoun was moving, letting go of Damar’s ankles and shifting on the bed, and when he opened his eyes to see what he was doing, Weyoun was kicking a leg over Damar’s shoulders. The strap-on bumped Damar on the chin and he opened his mouth without even letting himself think about it, he just _wanted_. 

If there was any time to complain about the aesthetic horror that was Weyoun’s strap-on, it was right now, but instead Damar let it slide into his mouth without complaint, running his tongue along the smooth sides, sucking on it and humming, hoping the vibrations went straight through to Weyoun’s groin. It seemed they did, because Weyoun’s breath stuttered for a moment, and Damar’s fingers sped up inside of him, pushing in and out with a frantic need. He added a third finger, just as Weyoun began rocking his hips lightly, thrusting into his mouth. 

It was impossible to tell exactly what Weyoun was getting out of this, but he seemed satisfied to have Damar under him, submitting to his every whim, and Damar was content to remain there, so he found no reason to question it. Eventually, Weyoun extracted himself from his place above Damar and scooted back down to Damar’s thighs, slapping his hand away. Weyoun ran his fingers across Damar’s slit, dipping two fingers deep inside and crooking them, making Damar’s toes curl. 

“You’re very good at this. Fucking yourself.”

Damar couldn’t say anything in response, the waves of pleasure rolling through him were making it nearly impossible to focus. 

“Do you do this often?”

Damar nodded once, and Weyoun seemed pleased with his apparent honesty, and continued fucking him with his fingers, deep and rhythmic. 

“Do you think about me?”

The sound that forced itself out of Damar’s throat wasn’t anything he’d ever heard before, especially not from _himself._ “Yes,” he gasped, thrusting his hips up once before Weyoun moved his free hand to hold him down. He did think about Weyoun, more than he’d like to admit, much more.

“Really?” Weyoun’s voice was almost unfairly composed, and Damar would’ve been more offended by it if he hadn’t known of Weyoun’s uncanny ability to mask his feelings. “I’m flattered.” He paused for a moment, and then- “How often?”

He was far too egomaniacal for his own good. Damar swallowed, tilting his head and arching his back as much as he could with Weyoun holding him down. 

“Damar.”

He clenched his teeth together, trying to find his voice even as Weyoun added a third and fourth finger and sped up his movements. “What.”

“I asked you a question. How often do you think of me?”

Damar couldn’t keep the moan down, and it took him a second to regain enough semblance of self to form a coherent response. “If I say every time, will you fuck me?” He asked, an exasperated edge seeping into his tone.

“No,” Weyoun said sweetly, leaning down and kissing Damar. “But I will if you say something else.”

Weyoun’s fingers left Damar and he made a noise of complaint that was quickly smothered by another kiss. As Weyoun broke the kiss and trailed his mouth down Damar’s neck, biting and sucking at the ridges and scales along his shoulders, Damar attempted valiantly not to break, to think of something else to say that wasn’t what Weyoun wanted, but his mind was blanking on any words that weren’t-

 _“Please.”_ The word left his mouth as a whisper, but it _felt_ so loud, as if he’d shouted it throughout the room. _“Please,_ Weyoun.” 

Weyoun pulled back to look at him, raising an eyebrow. “Say it again.” He shifted and grabbed the bottle of lube off the edge of the bed where Damar had abandoned it. 

A complaint about Weyoun’s demand worked its way up towards Damar’s mouth, but he forced it back down, knowing that was what Weyoun wanted, for Damar to give him more reason to postpone what he wanted, just to make him even more wrecked than he already felt. 

“Please,” he said, reaching up and gripping Weyoun’s sides, running his hands up and down his soft skin. “Weyoun, I want you to fuck me.”

Something in Weyoun’s face changed, and before Damar was even fully conscious of what was happening, Weyoun had pushed into Damar (the silver lining of this was the fact that Damar would no longer have to look at the horrendous color of the strap-on, although that thought was barely present in his mind at the moment). 

Weyoun’s hand removed itself from Damar’s hip, allowing him to thrust upwards in time with Weyoun’s movements, and gripped into his hair, tugging on it hard enough that it hurt, but Damar found he didn’t care. Weyoun’s movements were fast, fast and unrelenting, and Damar couldn’t tear his eyes away from his face. His expression was something Damar couldn’t even begin to describe, akin to pure bliss and satisfaction, and it probably wouldn’t have been such a shocking expression if it were on anyone else, but Damar was fairly certain this was the first time he’d ever seen Weyoun look so _genuine._

His thrusts only seemed to increase in speed and intensity, and Damar was gripping Weyoun’s thighs tightly enough that he knew he’d leave bruises. 

“Weyoun,” he said in between loud, breathy gasps and half-moans, “please touch me. Please.”

“Not yet,” Weyoun responded, slowing his pace down until he was barely moving at all, and Damar was fucking himself into him, trying desperately to get that friction back. 

_“Please.”_ He felt like he might start sobbing, desperation creeping further into his voice.

“Not. Yet.” Weyoun pressed soft kisses to Damar’s chest, running his tongue along his scales, tracing them like he was mapping them out. “You’re so impatient.” 

Instead of attempting to refute that, Damar lifted himself up onto his elbow, pulling Weyoun flush against him, pressing his mouth against Weyoun’s neck. He felt his pulse, his breathing, both sped up, and he was so warm, blushing a deep purple. 

“Are you saying you’re not?” Damar asked, sucking a mark into the side of Weyoun’s neck to further his point. Weyoun made a small noise, allowing Damar to continue marking his throat as he brought his hand to Damar’s clit, rubbing it with his middle finger. 

_“Fuck,”_ Damar murmured, breathing heavy against Weyoun’s ear. “Fuck,” he said again, because there wasn’t much else he could say, all of his higher functions seemed to be nonexistent in favor of chasing this feeling, thrusting his hips against Weyoun. He saw bright purple, the shade of Weyoun’s eyes, as he came with a loud moan that he wasn’t able to keep muffled and fell back, eyes shut tightly. 

He felt Weyoun pull out of him, and heard movement, opening his eyes to watch Weyoun remove the strap-on and toss it to the other end of the bed before leaning back on one hand and using his other to get himself off. If Damar had more energy, or an ability to lift his arms without collapsing, he would’ve offered to help Weyoun out, but Weyoun didn’t seem to mind, making quiet noises as his fingers worked around and into his hole. It was enthralling to watch, even if every molecule in Damar’s body was screaming for him to sleep. When Weyoun came into his hand, the first thought Damar’s exhausted brain had was _I wonder what that tastes like?_ But Weyoun had already wiped his hand across Damar’s bedsheets (an egregious sin, he could’ve at least used his own clothes), so his next thought was _oh well, I can try it next time._

The thought was an odd one, he didn’t even know if there _would_ be a next time, if he even wanted a next time. Moreover, if Weyoun wanted a next time. 

“Thank you, Damar,” Weyoun said, once he’d caught his breath, although Damar took notice in the fact that Weyoun’s limbs were still shaking. 

“What’re you thanking me for? You did most of the work,” Damar said, allowing himself to chuckle lightly as he sat up, and then immediately fell forwards on his stomach, embracing his pillow and haphazardly throwing one of his blankets on top of himself.

“Yes, well, thank you for… allowing me to do that. The experience was… satisfactory.”

“Satisfactory?” Damar repeated, voice muffled from the pillow. “That’s it?”

“I’ve never been allowed to have control before.”

“So you said. Before we started this.” Damar glanced up at Weyoun, and he seemed to be on the verge of saying something else, probably deeply emotional and far more involved than Damar wanted to get when he was this exhausted, but then Weyoun just shook his head and stood up, leaning down to pick up his clothes off the floor. 

“Stay the night,” Damar said, unsure where that came from. “I like the company.” He did, that much was true, but he didn’t like _Weyoun’s_ company. He just liked company. In general. Not Weyoun.

“You don’t mean that,” Weyoun said, and continued locating his clothes, pulling them on.

Damar sighed and pushed himself off the bed, catching Weyoun’s wrist before he could pull on his coat and tugged him over. He was warm, and Damar wanted warmth. He pulled Weyoun in towards his chest and Weyoun didn’t resist. “Stay.” He leaned down, speaking the next word as a whisper into Weyoun’s ear. “Please.”

He felt Weyoun shudder as he said the word, and when he pulled away Weyoun nodded and followed him to the bed.

“I didn’t think you liked me,” Weyoun said, once he’d settled himself into the bed, allowing Damar to wrap an arm around him and hold him close, like his own personal heater.

“I don’t let people I don’t like fuck me,” Damar replied, the words rolling out of his mouth before he could stop them. He could feel himself falling asleep, eyes closing of their own accord as he cuddled himself closer, further into Weyoun’s body heat.

“That’s good to know, I’ll have to add that to your psychographic profile,” Weyoun murmured. 

“Please don’t.”

“It’s strictly confidential, Damar. Just like this encounter will be.”

Damar couldn’t even find the energy to answer, he was rapidly falling asleep and Weyoun’s hypnotic voice wasn’t doing much to prevent that. 

“If the Founders knew about this, I’d be in trouble. Not necessarily the seducing you part, although they wouldn’t be _too_ pleased with it. They try to avoid… physical intimacy. Even in the Vorta. It’s a sign of the weakness of the solids, so unless it’s strictly necessary for diplomatic reasons, they forbid it.” Weyoun paused, and Damar blinked sleepily, rapidly losing the battle against his closing eyelids. “Not that this was a diplomatic decision. This was purely… a weakness of a solid, I suppose. Strictly confidential, between us.”

He sounded lost in thought, voice distant and barely reaching Damar’s ears. Or maybe he was just falling asleep. 

“This was a mistake,” Weyoun said definitively, and Damar definitely heard that.

“Probably,” he agreed. “Now go to sleep.”

“I don’t mean because of our… tumultuous history, Damar. I’m speaking strictly about how I behaved. I shouldn’t have said that about… wanting to feel worshipped. It goes against everything the Founders teach.”

Damar sighed loudly, moving his hand to cover Weyoun’s mouth. “Don’t care. Go to sleep.” He removed his hand and shut his eyes, hoping the conversation would be over. 

“You should care,” Weyoun said after a second. He sounded troubled, and it wasn’t hard for Damar to know why, he was terrified of the Founders, terrified of defying them, and that was what he’d just done. He’d put himself in a vulnerable situation, if Damar ever chose to tell a Founder what Weyoun had done, Weyoun’s line would likely be discontinued. 

“Won't tell if you don’t,” Damar murmured, hoping that was a good enough response to soothe Weyoun, because he fell asleep almost immediately after.

**Author's Note:**

> [18+ Twitter](https://twitter.com/swamplesbian)   
>  [Tumblr](https://kaijuvenom.tumblr.com/)   
>  [18+ Tumblr](https://kaijuvenomafterdark.tumblr.com/)   
> 


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